


Building A Mystery

by Achrya



Series: Samtember [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Minor Character Death, Samtember, Violence, Weird imagery, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Sam stumbles into a strange world, his friends use crystals to transform into magical things, cats talk, and a weird guy with a weird hand kisses him. …It’s a strange day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building A Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Samtember, day 3: Alternate Universe
> 
> Warnings: Someone kicks a cat, kinda. It’s not really a cat. And it’s evil. Death, weird imagery, injury, some blood. Non-consensual kissing. Crack treated seriously. So many different kinds of unbeta’d. 
> 
> Notes: I was inspired by Madoka Magica and, in particular, the different ways to take what everyone had, ability/skill wise, and making it work in a magical girl sense. Sam and his wings, Clint and his bow, Steve and his shield, and so forth. I would have liked to have spent more time and done more but late idea was late. I will probably revisit it/finish it at a later date.

It was a serpent, so big that it coiled around buildings, wound its way down streets, crushed cars and dug grooves into the asphalt with each heaving breath it took. It’s body rose and fell like hills, and it’s head blotted out the sun.

He watched, hand lowering, as the red and white striped dome around him flickered then faltered, falling away.

Acid dripped from fangs like skyscrapers and rows of blood stained teeth scraped over each other, bone and flesh torn to nothing between them. Scales moved, flexing, and inky hands reached from beneath them, grabbing purchase and holding tight until glistening black forms fell onto the shattered ground with strange wet noises.

“He can’t win.” The cat, pale body, dark face, and sly blue eyes, said blandly.

Bullets tore through the wet ink bodies closest to him, reducing them to moaning puddles.

The serpent's tongue flicked out as gleaming green eyes searched him out.

“You can help him. You can save him.”

There was a grinding and a whir, like gears grinding against each other, and then there were more guns, seemingly pulled from inside of the metal arm. He moved, jumping from building to building, and fired on the serpent.

“You can save everyone.” The cat insisted.

The bullets bounced off the armor-like scales. Time slowed, stopped, then returned and he was throwing bombs, explosions that seemed nothing more than tiny sparks compared to the impossibly long twisting body.

“Okay.”

Light pours from his body, blinding red, and he’s jumping from the building, ground rushing up to embrace him. Wings flap, bright red feathers falling free, and hands catch wrists. They jerk and for one dizzying moment they’re plummeting but then they’re spiraling up, riding the abnormally warm air radiating from the serpent's body.

A bird screams above them and a glance up shows birds, hundreds of them, made of glittering red and circling the snake’s head. It tried to snap at them but they avoided it’s massive jaws then flowed back into formation. They shrieked as one, taunting their prey.

\---

Sam, when he thinks back on it, won’t be able to put a finger on what it is exactly that makes him stop and take notice. One minute he’s walking to the bus station after registering for classes, earbuds in with Al Green trickling out, and the next he’d stopped outside of an old apartment building, looking straight up.

There was a woman on the roof, standing right on the edge, hair blown back by the wind. She swayed forward, foot hovering in the air. Then she swayed back, arms coming up to cross her chest, as her foot came back to solid ground. Sam’s heart leapt into his throat and he found himself shouting up at her even though he knew, logically, in the back of his mind that there was no way she’d be able to hear him.

But he had to. He knew what it was like, standing on the edge and looking over the edge into nothingness and wanting nothing more than to reach out and grab it. He understood hurting so bad that anything, anything at all, that would stop it was a relief.  

“Wait!”

The woman jerked, head lolling forward, and she stared at Sam. He couldn’t see her face, knew there was no way he could, and yet he saw wide blank gray fixed on him. She rocked back, a vacant smile curving her lips and a hollow giggle cutting through the air then she spread her arms wide as if waiting to embrace something. She stepped out and careened forward, face blissful as she fell.

A scream died in his throat even as he reached out on reflex. He took a step then stopped, stumbled as his mouth clicked shut, world turning and tilting on its axis. His arm dropped to his side, fingers curling into a fist, and something metallic spread over his tongue, filled his mouth. He wanted to close his eyes, didn’t want to watch as she sailed through the air, plummeting to earth with that sickeningly happy look, but all he could do was stare.

Something flashed, the setting sun hitting metal, and the air blurred. Instead of watching a body hit the ground and break he saw her plucked from the air and cradled close. The man who’d caught her touched down on the ground lightly, like he hadn’t just come out of nowhere, been ten feet in the air, and caught a woman like it was nothing.

He set her down carefully, leaning her against the building, then turned his head to look at Sam. His brow furrowed and then bright blue eyes widened from behind messy blond hair.  

“Clint?”

Clint took a step towards him, eyes darting to look at a spot beyond him. “You need to-”

The rest of his words were lost as a the world opened up, split down the middle and tore apart, jagged parts sharp like teeth surrounding a yawning pit of shadow, and screamed. It cut right through Sam, feeling like a thousands burning cuts across his skin, and dug into his ears sharply. He thought he screamed and clamped his hands over his ears, feeling a warm trickle seep out past his fingers, but everything was painful shadow burning his eyes and screaming, so many voices screaming.

He fell forward, fell forever into the inky pit and felt fingers scraping and prodding, yanking and pulling. Teeth gnashed and ground and shattered and it was endless, roiling grabbing shadows pushing in and stretching out and

A hand grasped his shoulder and pulled. His knees hit the ground hard and he cried out as the pain blazed over screaming nerves. Both of his hands hit the pavement as he toppled forward and retched, stomach twisting.

“Aww, Sam, no. My boots.”

He coughed weakly then looked up from the boots in front of him. Tight black pants, with a knife sheathed and strapped to the outside of the left leg, a belt that hung down and looped around a quiver full of arrows, tight black t-shirt with a purple arrow emblazoned across the front, black gloves, armguard strapped around one heavily muscled arms. Clint shifted and crossed his arms over his chest, sighing.

“Steve and Tasha are gonna kick my ass.”

Something fluttered and he turned to find it. The building was gone, leaving nothing but a cheery bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. Thousands of butterflies wound through the sky, wings dripping color like blood from open wounds then falling away into the blue, staining the sky with each drop. He could hear each flutter of their wings, so loud it practically vibrated in his his bones and teeth.

A hand gripped his shoulder and the noise faded and the color dimmed and finally he could breathe, really breathe.

“Yeah. These places are a little...intense.” Clint said while dragging him to his feet in a surprising display of strength. His hand slid from his shoulder to take his hand and bring it up to rest on his shoulder. “Just hold on. I’ll wrap this up.”

Clint thrust his hand out and purple light surrounded it then twisted, arcing out and forming a curved shape. His other hand came up, touching the top of the arc and then drifting down, a thin shimmering purple strand following it to the bottom.

The butterflies all stopped as if responding to some cue, statue still as they hung in the air. Then, as one entity, dove for them, wings melting and warping, razors emerging.

The purple strand connected to the bottom of the arc then the lights cracked, shattered like glass and fell to the ground in splinters, leaving a dark purple bow behind. Clint pulled three arrows from his quiver and notched them smoothly.

He drew back as the first few butterflies raced past and thin red lines appeared on Clint’s face and hands. They cut into Sam as well, stinging pain like paper cuts flaring up over whatever skin was exposed. Clint let go and the arrows flew then divided: three. Nine. More. The butterflies were pierced and fell, swallowed up by the blue.

Clint drew and notched more arrows.

Something shrieked and the splotches of colors smeared on the blue shifted with it, rose and sank, rippled and flexed like skin over bones, then split and blinked thousands of eyes. The blue ripped away from itself with a wet sound then reached out with undulating tendrils, squirming swaths of blue and angry eyes.

Arrows flew, streaks of purple, and sunk into the eyes. A roar rang out and everything shook around them then explosions rang out, arrows turning into small bursts of flame and everything leapt. Flames licked at the blue, racing over everything and turning it gray like ash as it curled into itself, breaking apart and drifting away to expose the world as it had been before; old building, empty street, and setting sun painting the sky orange and pink.

Clint, now in ripped jeans and a threadbare purple t-shirt, smiled at him sheepishly. “Been a while. How have you been?”

\---

Natasha’s cat slunk over to him, tail twitching slowly, then hopped up onto the couch and peered up at him with big blue eyes. “Hello. Sam Wilson, yes?”

Sam lashed out, one of the legs that had been bent and pressed against his chest darting out to kick the cat square in its face while he screamed. Everything went silent and still.

Clint had, after tending to the hysterical woman who kept insisting she hadn’t wanted to jump and didn’t know what she was doing there, hauled him over to Natasha’s place, a tiny one bedroom apartment in a renovated house close to campus. She’d opened the door for them, taken one look at Sam, and started cursing in rapid fire Russian before grabbing Clint by the arm and dragging him inside.

Steve had been sprawled on the couch, grinning lazily, but had jumped to his feet at the sight of Sam trailing after Natasha and Clint. Then there had been more yelling, each of them trying to outshout the other, and Sam had claimed Steve’s spot on the couch, needing a chance to sit and think.

Or.

Not think because when he tried to process everything was blue and and dripping and blinking and ear piercing shrieks. He looked down and saw his hands were shaking so he clasped them together and tried to focus his attention on keeping the trembling at bay.

“I was tracking a jumper-”

“What?” Natasha demanded.

“Oh. No, not him. Some woman.”

And then the cat jumped up and talked. Except not really talked, exactly, because it’s mouth didn’t move and because it was a FUCKING CAT but there was a voice in his head and he just knew it was coming from the sleek siamese cat looking up at him.

Clint’s snicker broke the silence.

“Pierce!” Steve shouted and when Sam glanced his way he saw he was wearing his ‘disappointed dad’ expression. “Leave Sam alone.”

The cat, who’d gone tumbling right off the couch, stretched with a sickening popping noise, then cat and licked it’s paw. “My apologies. You three seemed busy and your friend is very upset.”

Natasha scoffed. “I’m sure the telepathic cat helped.”

“Loads.” Sam muttered and he could hear an edge of something like breaking in his voice.

His three former (or maybe still) friends exchanged looks then Steve edged over to him. He sat next to him on the couch, concern plain in his eyes.

“I know this is a lot. Falling into a labyrinth like that, without any protection, it gets in your head and stays there.”

Sam stared at him but couldn’t pull any words together to respond because Steve was really working his gift for understatement. It wasn’t just in his head, it was everywhere. He could feel it under his skin, burning through his blood and pressing down on his chest, making it hard to draw in air, hear it pounding in his ears…

Thankfully Steve seemed to get something from his expression because he nodded and, slowly, reached out to put a hand on his knee. The pressure in his chest seemed to just unknot and noise in his ears dulled.

“Better?”

Sam refused to dignify that question with an actual response. “How are you doing that?”

Steve’s gaze darted over his shoulder, back to where Clint and Natasha were, then he nodded. he held out his free hand, palm up. There was a ring around one finger, a silver band that seemed completely plain except for a dark blue stone set in it. The stone shimmered for a moment then the ring melted off of Steve’s finger and flowed down into his hand. It puddled for a moment then started to slowly take shape, running up and spinning around as if gravity meant nothing, colors bleeding out of nowhere and then, finally, there was a small egg shaped crystal in Steve’s palm.

Sam gave it a once over, considering the milky white crystal, the blue circle in the center, and the red star inside the circle.

“That’s a very patriotic egg.”

Steve flushed then closed his palm; silver metal seeped between his fingers and reformed into the ring. “I didn’t get to pick the color scheme.”

“It reflects your soul.” The in his head cat voice put in helpfully. Sam very pointedly didn’t look at the cat.

Steve grimaced. “It’s a soul gem. We use them for all kinds of stuff but mostly they help us find witches, protect us from labyrinths, and...change us.”

Sam thought about Clint, clad in black and forming a bow out of purple light, and blinked. “Change.”

“You’ve seen Sailor Moon, right?” Clint asked. He perched on the the coffee table in front of the couch, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers while Natasha claimed the arm of the couch, sitting so close her thigh was pressed against Sam’s arm. “It’s like that. But no music and more ‘evil things that crawled from the abyss to feed off the darkness inside of us all.”

“Oh.” Sam nodded. “You know my therapist told me coming back here, going back to school here, that it might be too much for me and she was right. I’ve finally lost it.”

He’d been teetering on the edge since Riley had died, had fallen into some really dark places but he’d thought he was doing better and was finally prepared to leave his momma’s house and rejoin the world.

But, nope, crazy.

The amusement on Clint’s face vanished. Natasha shifted, leg pressing against him.

“There are things out there, evil things that most people can’t see or begin to comprehend, living nightmares. We call the really bad ones, like what you saw with Clint, witches and that place you fell into was a labyrinth. Witches call out to people, drag them in and devour them.” She pressed her lips together, eyes so dark and serious Sam couldn’t help but listen to what she was saying. “Sometimes they get into people’s heads, mess them up and twist them around, until they’re standing on the edge of a building or thinking about swallowing a bottle of pills, maybe killing their entire family and then themselves. When that happens a new nightmare forms and everything starts all again.”

“We’re trying to keep those things from killing people and making more.” Steve finished, frowning anxiously. “The three of us. And Pierce. I guess.”

Sam had known Steve since freshman year of high school. Sam had been at an art festival to support his best friend and he’d run into (a much smaller and skinnier) Steve who’d also been there to show off his work. They’d become fast friends and had stayed that way for six years, even ending up at Stark University together. Tasha had worked their way into the group during their first year of school and she’d pulled Clint in during their second.

And then Riley had died and Sam had fallen apart and run home to Harlem. Little over a year later and he figured he was as together as he was going to get so he’d come back. He was even in the same apartment building, though not the same apartment. He hadn’t told his friends (former friends), unsure if he’d be able to deal with being with them without Riley.

But here he was.

With them.

Talking about some crazy real life anime stuff after falling into some strange technicolor horror show. Real life nightmares and witches, coercing people to kill others and themselves, devouring people?

It was insane but he knew Steve Rogers like he knew himself, so he knew Steve wouldn’t bullshit him about something like this, not after he’d seen how completely Sam had crashed and burned after Riley.

And even if Steve had been inclined to screw with him he’d seen what he’d seen and there was no way around that.

Unless he was locked up somewhere, suffering from some off the wall delusions. That was probably the most reasonable conclusion.

He dropped his head into his hands. He could feel a migraine coming on, sharp pain at the base of his skull and threatening to radiate outwards.

“You could help them.” The cat again so Sam didn’t bother looking. “I can feel so much potential in you, so much power that could be used for good.”

“Pierce.” Natasha hissed.

“I bet, with all that potential, you could wish for just about anything, or anyone, you wanted.”

Sam’s heart stopped then started beating again, fast and hard. His head snapped up in time to see Clint lunging for the cat, eyes flashing with rage. The cat jumped back nimbly, avoiding the blond, and pranced behind the couch.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m going to jam an arrow down your fucking throat.”

“You humans get so violent sometimes, it’s no wonder so many of you turn into Nightmares.

“What does that mean?” Sam demanded, fixing his gaze on Steve. Natasha was impossible to read and Clint could lead a person in so many circles they forgot what their own question was but Steve was expressive to a fault.

“That’s the deal. One wish, just about anything you can think of, so long as you agree to spend the rest of your life fighting.” Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking very tired. “It doesn’t ever stop.”

He heard what he was saying but was hard pressed to register anything beyond ‘Anything you can think of’. A wish? The idea was just unreal. This couldn’t even be...none of this could be. He felt like he was drowning, scrambling frantically for something that made even a little bit of sense because none of this way.

Then again. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw thousands of butterfly dripped eyes.

Grand scheme of things.

“What did you wish for?” He asked but knew the answer as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

He’d been gone but he’d kept up with news. The accident that had killed Riley had injured Peggy as well, left her paralyzed from the neck waist down. 3 months after the accident she’d suddenly gotten better and it had been touted as a miracle not just because she’d regained full use of her lower body but because of how fast it had happened and that she’d almost immediately been back in top form.

“Holy shit.”

“Your human concepts of gods and ‘holiness’ have nothing to do with this.” The cat leapt up onto the back of the couch, fixing it’s narrowed eyed gaze on him again. “This is a system carefully conceived and implemented for the good of you and your people so that everyone may get what they need.”  

Sam blinked again and this time it was twisted metal and broken glass and ash blond hair streaked with blood on the back of his eyelids and the scent of blood and gasoline in his nose.

He shook his head and swallowed. “I need to get home.”

Natasha stood up as he did. “I can walk with you.”

“No! No. I just...” Needed to get away. “It was good to see you.”

The cat’s tail swished. “Consider the offer. You could do a lot of good and get what you want most out of it.”

\---

Sam stepped off of the bus at the end of his street, sighing tiredly. It was dark out, the sun having set while he was having what remained after his brain broken into tiny pieces as Natasha’s, but the street lights lit it up well enough.

He saw someone shuffling down the sidewalk in his direction. Dark hooded sweatshirt, ball cap, head down, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Other than that the street was empty.

He was very carefully not thinking about anything about getting home and getting something to drink. No blue, no melting butterflies, no cats, not Riley; nothing.

The person in the sweatshirt passed him then a hand was around his bicep. The hand was oddly cool and smooth but the grip is strong to the point of being painful. He tried to yank free but the hand tightens, dragged him in.

Gray-blue eyes meet his own and for a second he was somewhere else, flying above a crumbling city and

“Do you value your life? Your friends and family?” His voice was rough like someone who hasn’t spoken in a while. Sam went still, eyes darting around as his mind flashed to his family and a chill ran up his spine.

“What do you want?”

“If you care about them you won’t accept. If you make that wish you’ll lose everything.”

More of the man comes into focus; lank brown hair, stubble, lips twisted into a pained grimace. The hand on his arm gripped him harder, hauls him in until he could smell smoke and feel warm breath against his cheek.

He swallowed then, forcing his voice to stay steady, spoke. “Hey, man, just relax. I don’t-”

The corners of his mouth quirked up in clear amusement before he darted in, bring their mouths together and swallowing Sam's words. Chapped lips, tasting faintly of apples, moved over his own and a tongue flicked out to lick into his mouth and all he could do was stare and hold his breath and

what

the

fuck

His body caught up with the situation and he swung but met nothing but air. He looked around, heart hammering in his chest, but the street was empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> O_o


End file.
